


dance with me tonight

by professortennant



Category: The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: She covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers and shakes her head. “Dance with me, Hiccup.”She feels Hecate’s lips against her fingers as she tries to find the words underneath her shock; sees the widening of her eyes; sees the way her free hand–the one not tangled up in Pippa’s hand–curls into a fist at her side.“Please,” she adds, letting her finger brush intentionally over Hecate’s bottom lip. It melts the indecision from her face and she nods, reaching for Pippa with trembling hands and pulls her closer. Tonight, it seems, they are both reaching for what they want.





	dance with me tonight

The Annual Potions and Chanting Mistresses Gala was in full swing with witches from every coven in attendance. The ballroom gleamed with enchanted, twinkling stars on the ceiling, casting a bright, luminescent glow on the attendees. 

The punch and refreshments had been spiked with spiced mead long ago and each witch now sported a healthy flush on her cheeks as they sipped from their goblets. 

With the mead flowing through her veins, Pippa set to her task: finding Hecate. She knew Ada would send Hecate to attend as their coven’s representative. She was the most talented potions mistress on this side of the Atlantic and Pippa had one goal for the evening: to dance with her. 

Their friendship had been steadily repaired–a nonstop flow of messages on their Maglets, weekly mirror calls, dinners on the weekend. Now, with their friendship on firmer footing, Pippa was ready to press the boundaries, to push where she should have done all those years ago.

She sees Hecate’s towering form in the corner, stiff and arms crossed over her chest. Pippa feels her heart pound faster and harder in her chest at the sight of her. Beyond the nerves settling in her stomach, Hecate looks stunning. 

Her dress is form fitting, creating a curve at the swell of her hip, the dip of the gown hinting at cleavage (and Pippa had to swallow hard to keep herself from staring at the open expanse of skin available for her viewing). The dark emerald green fabric sparkled beneath the enchanted starlight and Pippa knew she had to touch the shimmers that caught the light; knew that she had to touch Hecate.

Draining her goblet of the last drops of mead-spiked punch, she made her way to Hecate’s corner of the ballroom, the swell of the band’s music urging her on, fueling the pounding of her heart. 

“Hecate,” she says with a grin, bowing her head slightly in greeting. Hecate returns the gesture, murmurs her name with quiet affection, and Pippa feels a rush of pride when she catches her eyes wandering over Pippa’s own form (a flowing tangle of sheer pink fabric with an empire waist, a long slit highlighting her lean legs). 

The mead thrums within her and she dares to slip her hand into Hecate’s, their fingers tangling and palms pressing together. Before Hecate can protest, before she can pull away, Pippa pulls them back further into the shadows, turns them and presses Hecate into a corner. 

“Pippa, what on earth–”

She covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers and shakes her head. “Dance with me, Hiccup.”

She feels Hecate’s lips against her fingers as she tries to find the words underneath her shock; sees the widening of her eyes; sees the way her free hand–the one not tangled up in Pippa’s hand–curls into a fist at her side. 

“Please,” she adds, letting her finger brush intentionally over Hecate’s bottom lip. It melts the indecision from her face and she nods, reaching for Pippa with trembling hands and pulls her closer. Tonight, it seems, they are both reaching for what they want.

She slips into Hecate’s waiting arms with ease. There’s no place for formality, for respectable space between them, for propriety. Pippa curls her fingers into the fabric of Hecate’s dress and shuffles them back further into the shadows away from prying eyes. 

Something is crackling between them, something is shifting and changing and morphing and it belongs to them only; knows that Hecate wouldn’t want the watchful eyes of the society witches upon them.

Under the cover of shadows, she becomes daring. She nudges Hecate’s chin with the top of her head, burrows herself into Hecate’s arms, inhales the scent of her–spicy and warm and herbal. This is safety. This is home.

Hecate doesn’t know what to do with her hands, alternately stroking over her back and ghosting over her hip and brushing her elbow. But eventually Pippa’s soft sighs and sways, their gentle shuffles from side to side, relax her and she holds Pippa close, settles her hands on the small of Pippa’s back. 

Pippa hides her pleased smile into the fabric of Hecate’s dress and wraps her arms around Hecate’s waist and something shifts in her chest, clicks into place. 

The feel of Pippa’s lips brushing over her bare shoulder startles Hecate and she misses a step of their dance, her foot connecting with Pippa’s toes. She stiffens and pulls away, shaking her head slightly, eyes downcast and cheeks flushed. “I told you, Pipsqueak, I’m no good at this.“ She tries to get away, to hide the rest of her heart while she still can, but Pippa holds her fast, fingers wrapping firmly around Hecate’s wrist and tugging her back towards her. 

She reaches up and smooths a stray curl of hair from Hecate’s temple, smiling softly at her. “Oh Hiccup, I’ll risk a broken toe if it means we get to dance a little longer.”

And so, they dance.


End file.
